


If The World Was Fair and Just

by Baamon5evr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Domeric Lives, Drabble Collection, Elia Martell Lives, F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Relationship, Talisa Lives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2019-10-24 09:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17701595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baamon5evr/pseuds/Baamon5evr
Summary: A collection of one-shots/drabbles where my favorite characters have a better chance at a happy ending (often canon divergent).Chapter One: The reunion with her ladies was sweet and warmed Elia, but also helped her to make her plans against Rhaegar. The Hightowers were a necessary ally to have. Alysanne marrying Aron helped, but Baelor and Elia marrying was the clencher for their alliance.Chapter Two: Aerys dies and Rhaella cries (not necessarily for the reason she should).Chapter Three: Talisa survives the Red Wedding and struggles to find a place to call home.Chapter Four: Baelish takes Sansa to Winterfell to marry the heir of House Bolton, but it’s not Ramsay she meets.





	1. Baelor/Elia

**Author's Note:**

> This is partly an excercise/challenge to myself to write stories that are 2000 words or less, so each chapter will range from 300 - 2000 words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by the story, Edge of solstice by Alyssa_Allyrion. I highly recommend you check it out.

It had been years since Elia saw Ser Baelor, Baelor Breakwind Oberyn had called him in their youth because he farted in their presence and Elia could not help but laugh any time she saw him after that. Baelor Brightsmile they called him now, and the name was apt. His smile could light up a room. Fitting, she supposed, since he was a Hightower.

Ostensibly, he was in Sunspear because his sister was getting married to Elia's cousin, Aron. Aron was master-at-arms of Sunspear seeing as how his older brother, Ryon, was the heir to Godsgrace (even though Elia had her doubts about his ability given the mess he created by fathering a bastard son behind Ynys' back. Thank the gods they had two sons afterward, elsewise Ynys might've killed him in his sleep). She was sure Lord Leyton would've shot higher for his fourth daughter than a landless knight. Perhaps a Reach lord. He had seemingly been placing his children strategically around the region. Alerie married into House Tyrell, Denyse into House Redwyne, Leyla into House Ambrose and Gunthor married a Fossoway girl. Word was that Lord Leyton was looking to marry Alysanne or Lynesse into House Ashford, House Rowan or House Meadows. If she didn't know any better, she would think he meant to take over the Reach, but if that was his plan, then Alysanne trounced it by leaving Oldtown for Sunspear to take her place at Elia's side, just as it was during their days at Dragonstone.

Elia was glad for her companionship once more. Alysanne had been chosen by Queen Rhaella to accompany Elia's circle and could've been picked as a means to keep an eye on the princess since Alysanne's mother was a former lady of the queen, but she became a true friend and ally as much as any of her Dornish ladies. Elia would've been happy to have her ladies with her during the war, but she had sent them away when Aerys demanded she and the children's presence in King's Landing. She knew she was to be his hostage and she wouldn't subject her ladies to it. He derided them enough for their Dornish heritage, they didn't need to be prisoners too.

She wanted Aerys dead, and the Gods appeared to answer her prayers when he cut his wrists on the Iron Throne and bled to death, allowing her to take the place of power and rule since his choice of Hand, the pyromancer, was useless except to brew wildfire. She didn't know what she expected when Rhaegar returned victorious from the Battle of the Trident, but it wasn't for him to tell her that he had set their marriage aside, married Lyanna Stark, had a son with her and Elia was to return to Dorne. She would've been happier about that if he had not sent Rhaenys to Winterfell to be wed to Robb Stark one day and sent Aegon to Highgarden until he reached an age of majority and then he would be sent to the Wall. Rhaegar planned for his son with Lyanna Stark to sit the throne, married to his younger twin sisters, and banish Elia's boy to a miserable existence surrounded by rapists and thieves and she was not going to have it.

Her only solace was that at least Ashara could care for Rhaenys at Winterfell and she was sure Ashara and Ned's boy would never harm her darling daughter. At least Rhaegar hadn't seen fit to marry Rhae off to his bastard or to Viserys as he was planning to do with Princess Daenerys. Gods help the poor girl. Gods help all those children. They didn't choose Rhaegar anymore than Aegon, Rhaenys or Elia did, but that didn't mean she would allow her children's birthright to be usurped and let herself wither away under grief and sadness. Rhaegar had unknowingly ignited a fire in her belly, the likes of which she thought she might share with her ancestors, Nymeria, Mariah, Meria, Aliandra, Deria, and so many others. She was not going to fail her children, just as she had not failed her ladies.

Her decision had given them the freedom to make their lives something that wasn't directly under the thumb of the crown. Ynys and Ryon got to work on salvaging their marriage, Ashara got her honorable Northman, Cousin Alyna married Alrick Dayne and had a son with him, Larra took her place as heir to Blackmont, Alyse got to use her wits and skill with numbers as Doran's treasurer and Myria and Symon were happy together with their little Sylva. The only ladies she had not been able to keep as close of an eye on as she wanted was Alysanne and Velaena Velaryon. Velaena had returned to Driftmark after Elia sent her away and had sent infrequent letters until she arrived for the wedding, sweeping into Elia's bedroom while she hosted her reunited ladies without knocking, her curly silver hair a wild curtain behind her.

_'Can you believe the nerve? Queen Lyanna must think she's so sly, rescheduling the Tourney in honor of Naerys and Visenya's nameday a whole month early to coincide with Alys and Aron's wedding to try to prevent as many people as possible from coming to Sunspear instead of King's Landing. Well, she had better try again. I wouldn't pass up the opportunity to see you, even if it had been my own wedding that was to take place, the Gods forbid. Oh Alys, your skin is glowing. Elia, your hair... all of you look gorgeous, it's disgusting, I hate you all.'_

Elia had laughed at the familiar hot-headedness and loose lips of her friend and welcomed her. The reunion with her ladies was sweet and warmed her but also helped her to make her plans against Rhaegar. The Hightowers were an important ally to have. Alysanne marrying Aron helped, but that was spur of the moment. Alys had always been sweet on Aron, and her announcement that they were to marry was as much a shock to him as everyone else. Baelor and Elia marrying was the clincher for their alliance. It should be all business. Still, the light feeling that entered her chest when she saw Baelor again for the first time was a surprise.

He was handsome, had always been. His light blonde hair shone in the Dornish sun, and his deep blue eyes were ones you could get lost in, his chin was covered in a light, tamed scruff, and his general demeanor was inviting and non-threatening, at least to her. She could see a hint of danger in his eye whenever she mentioned what Rhaegar had done to her like it was a personal slight against him as well as her. That gave her pleasure.

She tried not to seem like she was trying to get close to him for any particular reason since they had not finalized the agreement to marry and she didn't want the wrong people finding out ahead of time, though she found herself gravitating towards him. They would take walks through the courtyard, finding shade under the lemon trees to talk to one another. Sometimes they just sat silently, enjoying the other's presence. She also enjoyed hearing stories of Baelor's two little boys with his beloved deceased wife and about his valor and his mishaps, though he was loath to speak of the latter lest he sully his image in her eyes. He couldn't have, but she was pleased her opinion mattered to him. It hadn't to Rhaegar in the end. She thought it had. He had fooled her for longer than she was comfortable admitting to herself or anyone else. She thought they could work. She had kept to all her mother and her lady aunt's teachings and thought she could win him. It worked until it didn't and he brought her world crashing down around her. He broke everything and didn't leave her a scrap of anything they built. He sullied her reputation, took her children and her happiness.

"What troubles you, Princess? You have suddenly become morose." Lord Baelor said as they sat on the edge of the fountain in Sunspear's garden among the orange trees and strawberry bushes. The music playing from Alysanne and Aron's wedding reception could still be heard where they sat.

"It is nothing to trouble yourself over, just sad musings." Elia reassured him.

"I hate to see you sad, Princess." Elia quirked a humorless smile.

"Rhaegar has made it hard to not feel it at least once a day, but this melancholy that you have observed is better than the boundless grief that afflicted me in the first years following the Rebellion." The dangerous anger she noted before flashed in the lord's eyes as she mentioned Rhaegar.

"What he did to you... he is unworthy, he never deserved you. I am unworthy as well, but I promise I will never hurt you the way he did."

"You should not make promises you cannot hope to keep, my lord. I will hurt you, and you will hurt me. That is inevitable."

"But not like him. We are better than him. To have my children taken from me after being insulted for years by my own spouse, it is unthinkable. I will help you right these wrongs and reunite you with your son and daughter. You have my word, I will not rest until they are in your arms once more." Elia looked over at him and saw the sincerity in his eyes, and she knew he meant it. She should've been more cautious. She could just be seeing what she wanted to see, but she could tell he was true. Her eyes misted over before she could stop it, but she didn't cry.

"When I was with him, sometimes I would wish that it was you my mother told me I was to marry that day she came to wake me. I think I would've been much happier for it. But then Rhaenys and Aegon wouldn't exist, nor your two boys, and I would never wish for that."

"Mayhaps we would have happier, and mayhaps the kingdom would be worst off for it. Your son will be king, and there is no woman's son better suited to rule in Westeros. We will succeed, and when the work is done, we will go to the Hightower where we could work on simply being happy as it was meant to be."

Elia nodded in response, accepting the arm he threw over her shoulder. Her main concern with the betrothal had been that it was purely political. She had been burned by that before, but Baelor wasn't Rhaegar, and she had a chance of getting everything she wanted: her children, the throne and happiness, and mayhaps love.


	2. Rhaella

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aerys dies and Rhaella cries.

Rhaella cries when Aerys dies, and it does not shame her to admit it.

His death itself was not an extreme surprise. He spent two weeks suffering from the pain caused by the infected cuts he received from harming himself on the Iron Throne. Rhaella did not react much to his infirmity at first. Grand Maester Pycelle set to work trying to cure him, and Rhaella was sure he would succeed. It would take more than a few rusty blades to slay a monster such as her brother-husband.

His sickness caused Rhaegar and Elia not to attend the tourney at Harrenhall. Instead, they took charge of Aerys' duties, running the kingdom, and keeping the peace. Rhaella was glad for the company. They so often were away at Dragonstone, or Rhaegar was dawdling at the ruins of Summerhall for some silly reason Rhaella never quite learned. She seldom understood her eldest son, but she was glad to have Rhaegar in King's Landing sitting on the Iron Throne seeing to the petitions and supplicants. Rhaenys put a smile on the faces of all who saw her, running about with her Balerion underfoot and Viserys in tow. Elia was a calming presence to the queen, serene in the face of possible chaos, supporting Rhaella in whatever way she could despite how heavily pregnant she was. She looked so much like her mother. Rhaella longed to see Loreza before she died, but Aerys made that quite impossible. He said he didn't want Rhaella to go and whore around with her sand-heathen friend. She didn't remember him being so prejudiced when he was fucking every one of her ladies he could get his hands on, Dornish or otherwise.

Rhaella did not often visit her husband on his deathbed. Mostly, she focused on fielding Viserys' questions about his father's whereabouts and helping to keep order. She saw him only twice. Both times he looked pale and sickly and small in the king-sized featherbed. Like that, shivering and suffering and pathetic, he hardly looked like the monster that trapped her in his bedchamber and left bites, bruises and cuts all over her body while rutting against her like some kind of animal. She almost pitied him, languishing in his weakness. It made her remember the days before their father forced them to marry when they were simply brother and sister and Rhaella entertained notions that she could fall in love with a landed knight and have a happily ever after. Aerys would tease her good-naturedly like any brother, mess up her hair because he knew she hated it and gift her pretty things for no reason other than to give it to her. She loved him once, respected him, as her brother, never as her husband. But her brother died decades ago. The man wasting away in that bed was not the brother she loved, so her visits ceased, and she went about her day waiting for him to come around so he could continue his torture.

Rhaella awoke the day of Aerys' death to the bells ringing. The sun had not risen yet, and she was still in a haze of sleep when Elia came to give her the news, still clad in her nightgown. Rhaella had not moved for a long while, frozen in shock. 

There was something building in her. There was a great roaring in her ears and something burning its way through her lungs, up her throat, stinging her eyes and then finally, unable to hold it back anymore, she began to laugh.

She laughed long and hard until tears came to her eyes and streamed down her face. Soon the giggles turned to sobs. She felt Elia wrap her arms around her shoulders, rubbing her back. Rhaella alternated between laughing and crying for a long time. She thought she might have seen Rhaegar and Viserys peek in and give her disturbed looks before they disappeared and it was just she and Elia once more. Eventually, she quieted and the release left in its wake a great calm that washed over her. Peace and relief.

"He is dead. He is truly gone, you are sure?" Rhaella asked, still finding it hard to believe. She thought he would live forever, or at least live long enough to see her dead.

"I saw his body myself, goodmother. The maester confirmed it. Aerys is dead."

"I am free then."

"You are free."


	3. Talisa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talisa survives the Red Wedding and struggles to find a place to call home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People unfairly hate on Talisa, and I think she has a lot more unexplored depth than people give her credit for.

In the end, it's her babe that saves her. She had known that pregnant women had to make water more frequently, but with Lord Edmure and Lady Roslin's wedding happening and the peculiarity of her status among the Freys, the woman who stole their chance to be a queen, she did not want to do anything untoward. When she saw the Blackfish get up to relieve himself, it felt like the perfect opportunity for her as well.

"Are you certain you don't want me to accompany you?" Robb had asked when she stood up.

"I will be perfectly safe with Ser Brynden. Stay and enjoy yourself. I will return shortly." Talisa had said, rubbing her hand on his shoulder as she did not want to risk a kiss and cause offense. She had gone to her assigned room to use the chamber pot, but she could hear the screams from the window and knew the danger she was in. She hadn't thought about it before she fled. She received an arrow through the shoulder and the back of her left leg for her efforts, but she managed to get past the gate. She had seen so much death and destruction beforehand though, men disemboweled and dismembered and Robb... her Robb. They paraded his beheaded body around on a horse with Grey Wind's head attached. She wanted to fall to her knees then and there, but she couldn't. She still had her babe counting on her, and so she had pressed on.

Now she found herself trudging the woods. She wasn't sure how long it had been, but the sun had risen and set while she walked. Her stomach growled with hunger and her feet blistered. Every step irritated her shoulder, and the limp she walked with got worse and worse. She needed proper medicine, but she didn't have it. She couldn't trust anyone now.

She was alone.

**~*~*~**

She didn't remember fainting, didn't remember the feel of dirt against her cheek, didn't remember the kindly couple finding her and putting her in the back of their wagon. She wasn't sure how long she slept, but when she woke up, she was in an unfamiliar place with a sheet draped over her and a fireplace burning beside her. She jerked up, and rough hands pushed her back down.

"Hush, now. It's alright. Don't strain yourself." Talisa looked at the middle-aged woman across from her with alarm.

"Don't worry, dear. I won't hurt you. You've had enough of a rough go of it, seems like."

"Where...? Who...?"

"I am Lycenda. You're in my cottage, mine, and my husband's. He found you out in the woods on the outskirts of our land. Your wounds were infected. You've slept for days. I've been tending to you. Lucky that you fainted near a midwife's house, eh? The Gods must've smiled down on you." Talisa wanted to scoff at that. If they truly smiled at her, she would be in her husband's arms right now. But Robb... he was gone. Tears sprang to her eyes before she could stop them. She did not want to cry in front of a stranger. That was hardly queenly of her. Lycenda patted her hand comfortingly.

"Whatever happened to you, and I won't ask, you're free of it now. You're safe here. You can stay as long as you need. Rest. If not for yourself, then for your child."

Talisa's hands went to her stomach. Her child would never know their father nor their grandfather or their grandmother. They would not know their Uncle Jon who was their father's rival and confidant and best friend all in one, nor their Uncle Brandon who would climb towers and gates and trees until his short life ended in paralysis and then treachery, nor their Uncle Rickon who was just a child with an obsession for walnuts. Their Aunt Arya will never teach them how to cause mischief in defiance of their parents, and their Aunt Sansa will never sneak them lemon cakes at dinner.

_I could go back to Volantis, but how and with what money? Would Father even accept me home?_

He had been furious that she left the life of nobility and condemned slavery, which he practiced, before leaving home for her own endeavors. Mother wrote to her and her brother, Perros, as well, but it was Father's decision to make. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear him tell her, 'I told you so. I told you, you were not ready for the world outside our home and now it has broken you and left you crumpled on the floor and where is it you crawl back to? Home.'

But it wasn't. Volantis stopped feeling like home the moment she peeled back the veneer and took a good hard look at it. There was nothing free about the Free Cities, and it disgusted her living in that mockery of freedom. Was Westeros any better though? People were not slaves here, but the common people mattered even less to most nobles. They had no monetary investment in them, so why should they care? Westeros had not been home to her either. Robb had felt like home, like home, could be a person and not a place.

She prided herself on being practical, clinical, but she had let love dictate her life, and it led to ruin. She pressed back into the pillows and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping to banish all her conflicting thoughts and give herself over to sleep once more.

The image of Robb's body stayed burned on her eyelids even as slumber stole her consciousness away once more.

**~*~*~**

"Mummy, look, it's so big," Kitty shouted at her as Talisa walked up the hill towards their cottage, the one they had been sharing with Lycenda and Wendel for three years. Three years since the Red Wedding, since Catelyn was born, named for the grandmother that never quite warmed to Talisa but she knew she would've loved her granddaughter all the same.

Lycenda and Wendel were the grandparents she never had, and this cottage was the castle she would never see. It had become a safe haven for the former queen and princess. Lycenda and Wendel were loyal and would take her secret to the grave, but this place was never home to her. Not because she was once a noble lady and then a queen and now lived on a farm, but as much as she cared for Lycenda and Wendel, her family was not here. There was none of her history here. There was no one to share memories of Robb with, to grieve the man and not the king.

When she wrote to her mother and brother, they would always tell her to come home. She didn't think she'd feel any better in Volantis, but at least Robb's spirit wandered the Riverlands, and that meant something to her.

Talisa looked back to see her daughter pointing at a white raven. Little Kitty's tan skin gleamed like gold in the sun offset by her head of wild red-brown curls like her father and blue eyes.

Sometimes it physically hurt to look at those eyes. It made Talisa wonder what it looked like to see the light leave them. She still wondered if he thought she abandoned him or had something to do with it. That was a rumor she heard. Some believed she was a planted Lannister spy while others claimed she fled back to Volantis where she belonged, that she brought a curse with her. That was irrelevant on this farm because here she wasn't a queen, she was a nurse to the townspeople and a farmhand when her leg permitted it and whatever else she needed to be to repay the kindness Lycenda and Wendel showed her.

"Come along, let's get inside for supper, dear." Kitty ran to her and held her hand on the walk back to the cottage.

"You know what that raven means?"

"What?"

"It means winter is here." Kitty stared at her unmoved. Talisa quirked a smile.

"It will mean more when the snows fall."

"Snow?"

"You'll love it. Winter flows through your veins, you'll feel right at home."

**~*~*~**

"You're going north? I thought the point of winter migration was to escape the cold, not run to it," Talisa said to Lycenda and Wendel later that night.

"Lannisters invade the Riverlands more and more everyday. That will only get worse now that Cersei is queen. We have family in White Harbor. We will bring everything we can, sell what we can't, and ride out winter with them," Wendel explained.

"We want you and Kitty to come with us," Talisa shook her head.

"The Boltons rule the North, no one will ever be safe around them." Roose Bolton put a knife through her husband's heart. She would never live under his rule. Lycenda and Wendel shared a look.

"You don't know? The Boltons are dead. The Starks hold the North now. Jon Snow has been declared King in the North and rules alongside his sister, Lady Sansa." Talisa was not sure how her face looked, but she was certain her mouth was comically wide. She didn't know what to think.

"On top of that, someone killed Old Walder and poisoned every Frey man involved in the Red Wedding. It's been avenged." Talisa almost fell to her knees in relief. The men who slaughtered her people, her family, all of them gone, and there was another family out there for her. A sister and brother, an uncle and an aunt for her child, others who shared the memory of Robb in their hearts.

There was a home for her and Kitty.

Winterfell.


	4. Sansa/Domeric

Sansa was not happy.

She always imagined this moment to be one of joy and relief, riding into Winterfell once more, returning home. But it wasn’t her home anymore. There were no direwolf banners hanging from the walls, she didn’t recognize any of the servants or guards trudging around looking like walking corpses, the stone of the keep was not pristine and grim gray anymore. Instead, there were places where the stones were blackened and burned, the banners hanging from the walls were the dark blue and red of the flayed man and the guards carried shields with the cross emblazoned on them. The people lining up the courtyard were strangers too, but she knew of them.

Roose Bolton was not a tall man, but his ice blue eyes sent shivers down her spine. His skin was pale and he had a receding hairline of gray hair. His mouth was set in a grim line and his face was blank, his eyes assessing her as she rode in. This was the man who murdered her brother, who betrayed him, who took over her home.

Usurper. Traitor. Betrayer. Murderer.

She felt anger growing inside her. She wanted to hop down from her horse and gouge out his eyes, rip out his throat, take off his head. She was slightly startled by the thought and wondered where it came from.

_It’s Winterfell. I’m stronger in these walls, more feral, my thoughts grow bolder. And mayhaps it’s Lady too, her spirit calling out to me for vengeance. She wants her murderer and their friends to suffer. I want that too._

She glanced beside her as Petyr dismounted his horse and came beside her to help her down.

 _But it is not meant to be. There are no knights, no heroes, only liars and schemers and the monsters are the ones that win._ She thought with melancholy as she approached the Bolton party, Petyr’s hand on her back pushing her towards them. She felt a sudden urge to run away, but knew she would never make it.

“Lady Sansa, welcome.” Lord Roose said, his voice deep and chilling. Sansa glared at him. A multitude of insults were on her tongue, all as unladylike as the last. She wondered where this defiance came from. It was Arya too, she decided. Her spirit lingered at Winterfell, angry that her life was snuffed out early by the Lannisters, and she beat at the walls of Sansa’s soul, wishing to take over and gnash her teeth at their enemies.

_No, I am a lady and I must be strong and dignified as my lady mother. Petyr promises revenge and cautions patience. I will be patient._

She put on a smile and curtsied to the man as he continued to stare at her, courtesies spilling like venom from her lips.

Petyr told her that Lord Roose's son was a knight, ordained so when he was Lord Redfort's fosterling. That he was said to gentler than his father and to be a man of honor with a disposition to horses and an affinity for jousting and the harp, but the boy she was introduced to had eyes colder than Lord Roose's and a glint in his eye that reminded Sansa chillingly of Joffrey, but she curtsied to him all the same as he kissed her hand and gave her a lecherous smile.

“I understand you are to be my husband. I hope we will have a happy and fruitful union,” Sansa said politely, even as warning bells rung in her head.

“Oh no, my lady, Ramsay isn’t to be your husband. Unfortunately, my heir, Domeric, seems to have lost track of time. He went out for a ride and has not yet returned. My apologies for any insult he has given.” Sansa felt relief at the knowledge that Ramsay would not be her husband and waved off the insult at her future husband’s absence in favor of being taken to chambers by Lady Walda, a Frey and a Bolton, a traitor to her family twice over.

Sansa did not meet her betrothed until days later when a knock came at her door. Petyr was already gone, and Sansa felt lonely and angry, even more so since Ramsay had shown her Theon in the kennels, giggling all the while like he was showing Sansa some grand jape. He said it was a wedding gift to his future goodsister and looked at her like she was meant to fall to her knees and thank him for. Theon was repulsive to her, a traitor who killed her brothers, he should be dead not rotting in a cell.

She stood up as the door opened and a man walked in. He was the same height as Sansa with short curly dark hair and ice blue eyes. He wasn’t overly handsome, his eyes were a bit too far apart, his nose a little too long on his face. He stood rigidly, his hands behind his back. He wore a dark red tunic with a pin on his chest of a horse’s head interrupted by a cross. He bowed to her.

“My lady, I am Domeric Bolton.” He said, leaving his introduction at that. Sansa stared at him, not responding. The man stared back before he shuffled in place. If Sansa didn’t know better, she would say he was nervous, his rigidness giving way under her scrutiny.

“I’m certain you may have questions.”

“About?” She asked shortly.

“Me, my family, our future union.”

“What more is there for me to know?”

“I want our union based off of honesty, and mayhaps trust in time.” Sansa gazed at him wonderingly, trying to discern what kind of trick he was playing.

“I know our families do not have the best history,” Sansa had to dig her nails into her palms not to scoff,

“But, it’s my hope that we can mend bridges and in doing so, mend the North.” Sansa continued watching at him, wondering if he was just naïve or playing stupid.

“You said you want to start based on honesty, so may I speak frankly?”

“I welcome it.”

“I’m here because your father wants to secure the North, the land he took through false means by killing my brother, my mother and my goodsister at a wedding while under guestright. As soon as an heir is ripped from my body, I’ll be of no more use to him. I understand my position perfectly well. I’ve had quite enough of masks in the south, I’d rather not deal with it under my own roof. I’d prefer you show what kind of monster you are in the open, as your bastard brother does, and I’d happier for it.” Domeric looked at her for a long moment before straightening.

“I knew Robb well—”

“Don’t—”

“Let me finish. I knew Robb. I fought beside him. I was a member of his guard. I counted him as a friend.” Sansa did not hold her disbelief in.

“I didn’t know the Red Wedding was going to happen. If I had, I would’ve warned him.” Sansa stiffened as Domeric approached her until he was standing only a foot away from her.

“But I remember my oaths, my lady, I remember who I am. I am a northman and I pledged my fealty to the King in the North, whose name is Stark. I also pledged to safeguard the prosperity and longevity of my house, no matter who stands in the way of that. My father and my brother are, as you said, monsters. They must be removed. I know the reputation of my house will be marred for generations to come, but I won’t let it be said that I am an oathbreaker or a kingslayer. There are wheels of change in motion: the Manderlys, the Umbers, the Mazins, the Mormonts, the Hornwoods, we are all of us playing our parts. Even houses in the Vale are abreast of what is coming, House Redfort, House Royce. If you stick with me, both of our houses will come out of the coming conflict intact. I know you don’t have much reason to trust me, but I swear I will not harm you, my lady. I am committed to the North. If you believe nothing else, believe that.” Sansa studied the man across from her. She had become quite adept at knowing when a person was lying to her, but his words did not ring falsely in her ears. Even when Petyr spoke, she could tell there was an element of dishonesty, but not with the heir to House Bolton.

“And when this is all over, will I still be expected to bear the name Bolton?”

“Only if you wish to. It is rare for a marriage to be annulled under the Old Gods, but I have a feeling they will understand and bless the separation if you wish it so, but to get what we both want, a marriage is necessary for now to keep my father in the dark about my part in his downfall.”

“And how would you know what I want?” Lord Domeric smirked a little and it was reminiscent of Ramsay, but not at the same time.

“I’m sure you want many things, but I can boil it down to two words: justice and vengeance.”

“And you want, what? To save face so the history books don’t mark you a villain?”

“Partly, but I want to preserve my honor and that of my house, what is left of it at least. I want to ensure the sun doesn’t go down on House Bolton with the likes of my father and my brother at the helm. I want to avenge my friend and my king. When this is all over, if you still want to take my head, I will understand, but I want my last days to be ones where I know I am doing some good.”

Sansa assessed the man, her husband-to-be, her third betrothed. There were no warning bells, nothing whispering to her to proceed with caution, but she wasn’t so foolish as to put her trust in this man who was a stranger, nor was she stupid enough to dismiss him. Something told her of all the Boltons to be saddled with, this one was her best bet and if it meant vengeance and the restoration of her house, she supposed she could countenance the restoration of his alongside it if the perpetrators of her family’s death were dead.

“I don’t trust you, Domeric Bolton, but I will count you an ally until you give me reason to believe otherwise. And I would have you swear your oaths to me now so I know I may condemn you as an oathbreaker if you turn against me.” The man got down on one knee with nary a pause, his head slightly bowed.

“I vow here, before the Old Gods and the New, that I, Domeric of House Bolton, son of Roose Bolton and Bethany Ryswell, heir to the Dreadfort, will protect and serve you, Sansa of House Stark, as a husband and as a bannerman. I will shield your back, keep your counsel, share my hearth and all my worldly possessions with you. I pledge my fealty to House Stark from now and into perpetuity and will do all I can to see all your enemies destroyed.”

Later, as Sansa stood in front of the heart tree with Domeric, she wondered if she made the right decision.

“Do you take this man, Lady Sansa?” Lord Roose asked her.

She looked up at Domeric, who was not very handsome, who was a Bolton, who seemingly would turn against his own family but professed to wanting to be good. She had taken a chance with Petyr and it led her here, could she take a chance with Domeric as well? He looked at her expectantly and something inside of her shifted, allowing room for hope.

“I take this man.”


End file.
